


arthur dent is not gay

by justthisguyyouknow



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (2005), Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (TV 1981)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Denial, F/M, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Red Dwarf References, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead References, Slow Burn, arthur is stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24107818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justthisguyyouknow/pseuds/justthisguyyouknow
Summary: spoiler alert: he isIgnoring the increasingly- but not as rapidly as you might expect- confused owner of the pub, ford opened his mouth to start to explain ‘what the hell was going on’, before Arthur, ‘lost the grip on the day’, when he remembered why they were in the pub.“drink up hetero boy”a retelling of the story but through those sweet gay eye and with extra quotes I’ve nicked from other shows.
Relationships: Arthur Dent/Ford Prefect, Zaphod Beeblebrox/Trillian
Comments: 27
Kudos: 30





	1. in which arthur is normal apeman

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on the actual storyline, i’ve skipped bits and i’m not doing the zaphod storyline so it’s more like the tv show story, assumes a vauge knowledge of it obviously. this is my first fic so please don’t rip into me, also i wrote it on my phone so capitalisation is questionable

Ford and Arthur eventually arrived at the pub down the road from Arthur’s, soon to be demolished, house; Ford reached into his pocket for money to pay for the 3 pints that were required for this conversation, since no pan galactic gargleblasters were on hand. 

On his 15 years on earth, the convention that men drank beer had continuously baffled him, such a weak drink is seen as ‘manly’ in no other civilisation he had come across on his galactic travels. He had noted this in his entry for the guide but it was, of course, cut- and it made very little difference anymore anyway.  
On that note, they entered the pub.  
“6 pints of bitter, and quickly, the world is about to end.” 

Ford saw very little point in hiding his lack of ape ancestors at this point and internally sighed when the statement caused a reaction of the afore mentioned reoccurring theme of ‘none at all’- it didn’t even get him out of the obligatory sports chat.  
The end of the sports chat came when the barman continued to treat the world ending as joke and stated it would be a lucky escape for arsenal if it - being the earth - did (end). This baffled ford, and he simply informed him that it wouldn’t. 

Arthur looked daunted by the 3 pints in front of him, and shared this concern out loud mostly to ford but also to the room at large do inform those in earshot that this was not his idea, and defend his reputation from being the man who drinks 3 pints at lunchtime.  
Ford’s explanation was simply 2 words that left Arthur trying to ignore how he felt thinking about the implications of said words, despite knowing ford’s eccentricities likely meant he was unaware of what they could mean.  
“muscle relaxant” 

Ignoring the increasingly- but not as rapidly as you might expect- confused owner of the pub, ford opened his mouth to start to explain ‘what the hell was going on’, before Arthur, ‘lost the grip on the day’, when he remembered why they were in the pub.  
“drink up hetero boy” 

The reader should note at this point Ford was rather intent on explaining himself, and didn’t notice Arthur spluttering on his drink, and then quickly recovering when he realised that not drinking implied he was not, a hetero boy. 

The smaller man continued after making short work of his first pint- two throats have their uses.  
“How would you react, if I told you, I’m not from Guildford after all-”, he paused at this point, not for dramatic effect, (he was on a tight schedule) but to compose himself after realising that his fake name was contained in his fake home town. Arthur did not notice. “-but i from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse.”.  
“I don’t believe it.” came the matter of fact reply  
“What? Just a conspiracy of cartographers you mean?”  
“I don’t believe it” Arthur again said, nonchalant as a man who’s house was being kept held hostage by man with a bulldozer can be. 

This narration, or perhaps the sound of bulldozers outside the pub suddenly reminded monkey boy here as to why he was stood in a pub with his best friend in his dressing gown. He immediately lost his mind. If ford were one to state the blindingly obvious, he would say that that could have gone better. Instead, he failed to talk Arthur off the ledge, purchased peanuts, finally convinced the man who’d pulled their 6 largely un-drunk pints that the world WAS ending and took off down the lane after Arthur, who was shouting the 2nd worst threats in the length and breadth of the space time continuum, interestingly first prize goes to one Slartibartfast, and Arthur would be there to witness it.  
Before Arthur had to flounder for another pointless threat to fall on dull ears, a vogon constructor ship appeared overhead and he simply screamed  
“what the hells that”

Ford skirted round Arthur trying to avoid too much contact knowing how the other man was, but placed his hands loosely on Arthur’s sides and casually pushed his front near Arthur’s back knowing that- even if the earth man wasn’t aware- it calmed him. Arthur backed into the embrace trying to match his height to the small ford. They both looked up at the humongous object hovering above them as ford made little effort to conceal his delight and grabbed Arthur’s forearm and dragged him into a nearby grassy verge, a hedge sheltering them from the powerful engines. 

Now slightly less frantic, Arthur tried again to glean what was happening.  
“What the hell is it?” he asked over the roar of the engines  
“it’s a fleet of flying saucers, what do you think it is?” ford asked rhetorically and without missing a beat, “take hold of this”.  
After a short exchange and Arthur trying to just lie down Arthur complied and wrapped his hands over ford’s, they both barely managed to ignore the rare but secretly craved contact even in this time of crisis. Arthur wasn’t sure if the vibrating was coming from the small device they were grasping or the usual electric like sparks he felt every time they touched, him being an alien would explain a lot. His thought process was cut short by the feeling of darkness and the air being sucked out of his lungs.


	2. in which Arthur still doesn't believe it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite a lot longer- I cant commit to anything but I suspect the rest will be of this length. I'll be updating every week or so until we go back to college on the 1st and then I'm not sure anyway enjoy the gays.
> 
> Also I made a playlist  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5jMNog4VeOcyoFZYwDSvdB?si=uxcG6IFfRz-ikdJao6l4yg
> 
> comments are very welcome since theres a about 5 people who actually read hitchhikers fic- even if its to tell me it makes no sense or ive misspelled something

The two men suddenly found themselves on a dirty looking poorly lit spaceship. Ford looked around to find Arthur and struck a match to illuminate the small space between them. The seated taller man looked up from between his knees weakly just as Ford passed him a pack of salted peanuts and muttered something about matter beams and transference, which made very little sense to him.

While his eccentric partner was talking nonsensically in a manner that felt oddly like a rollercoaster, Arthur couldn’t help but notice that, even on a grotty space ship further from his home than he’d ever been, the way the firelight illuminated Ford’s frizzy hair- making him a little fuzzy inside, and want to simply close the gap between them, and rest their foreheads together- seemed to be a pleasant constant. However, another constant was that he didn’t, because he had self restraint, and god knows what ford would go round thinking if he started casually touching him with no reason- he suddenly realised it must have been some weird alien pheromones making him feel like this the whole time.   
Content with this realisation and explanation he managed to start concentrating on what his friend was saying. Unfortunately, he’d almost finished his ramblings and only heard salt, protein and beer which seemed rather unhealthy to Dent. For the earthling, the rest of the conversion went in a similar fashion, lots of words but ultimately, very little meaning. 

The earth man looked to Ford to be rather small, despite the 6 foot height he’d been blessed with, not that he usually walked with his full height anyway. Ford thought this was a shame and rather enjoyed it when timid Arthur would get heated about something and get into his personal space even if the subject was usually tea or why he had to go to work or something silly like that. Usually, and always in public, Arthur was one to dip slightly to be slightly less of a cumbersome size, indeed he regularly wished he was a more average height if only so he could blend in more. Not too small to have people comment on it, but just perfectly middle. Normal. Right now however, he was especially small looking, like a lost child. Ford really didn’t know what to do about it, so he simply walked around in search for a light switch. 

Now Ford began to think about it, Arthur seemed somewhat scared and out of his element, but then again Ford couldn’t really think of a time that Arthur was IN his element, other than perhaps on random mornings after Ford had passed out on Arthur’s sofa and he’d woken up to look over to the kitchen to see him singing quietly - usually a song from whatever musical Ford had auditioned for recently to keep up appearances.

One time he’d actually landed a role as a minor character in Jesus Christ Superstar. He had at one point expressed his shock that a play with a love triangle between Jesus, Mary and Judas (with Jesus at the centre) was so popular, considering how much stock people put in the bible, and the lack of acceptance towards homosexuality here (one of the first things Ford had learnt while on earth). A few people laughed at this observation, but one person had made it very clear that that was not was happening, and that it was Ford’s ‘kind’ who were ruining theatre. The alien was mostly unsure of which other beings from Betelgeuse had performed on earth. 

Ford had dragged his earth friends to watch him dazzle the audience as ensemble member 5. However, he’d instantly regretted it. In some cruel irony, Arthur ‘heterosexual’ Dent had sung ‘I Don’t Know How to Love Him’ while ford was returning to the world of the living on his sofa after celebratory drinks, and all the Betelgeusian could do was try not to cry.

Just the memory made him groan and hit his head lightly against the wall. By some small miracle this was where the light switch was, and the lights fluttered on.   
Arthur had finally managed to form a coherent thought - ‘How come a flying saucer has faulty filament lights, rather squalid really’ and then ‘Wait? Are we on a flying saucer? Where did that come from? How did we get here?’ Thoughts now crammed into his brain like copies of a document after pressing print a few too many times in frustration, (not that he knew much about that.)

He began to groan, when he was interrupted by little green cretin popping up out of a barrel. The taller man launched himself at his companion without thinking, and his usual refusal to get too close to one Mr Prefect was forgotten for a moment, as he was more scared of that green thing than the other Thing He Didn’t Think About. A moment later Arthur realised that he was not being shielded from the creature, and had only achieved confusion on Ford’s face, so span around Ford without breaking contact to cower behind him. 

We may now delve into the brain of the carbon based life-form known as Ford Prefect. You may think that Ford wouldn’t be stressed right now, he was finally off Earth and he had with him the reason he didn’t leave with Zaphod that time he came and picked up that astrophysics graduate - not that he’d ever share that particular piece of information with Arthur. Unfortunately, being on a Vogon constructor ship with a completely inexperienced, and borderline inept traveler, without so much as a towel (unless you could count a dressing gown as one, but Arthur was using that as, well, clothes), was not this hitchhiker’s guide to a relaxing morning. 

Basically, he was stressed out and filled with information, trying to get them out of the situation, not have Arthur freak out too much, explain about hitchhikers and convince Arthur they were safe for now. So, when Arthur launched himself at him it firstly took him rather by surprise, triggering his fight or flight. Secondly it fried his brain quite a bit, as he’d spent 15 years learning the intricate rituals of what degree of intimacy is permitted between two male friends on earth, restricting random pats and grabs to every 30 seconds rather than 5, and learning what types of contact were out of bounds. If he remembered correctly, hugs for more than a few seconds and not either in celebration of a football goal or to say bye were out of bounds, and whatever this was felt like a slightly bizarre hug. Due to this overstimulation of Things, Ford became suddenly rather irritated and, having very little patience for Arthur’s fear of a harmless tiny creature. He threw him off, slammed the light off and informed the ape that this was all the creature wanted.

As the pair exited the sleeping quarters, Ford grabbed Arthur’s arm in an attempt to communicate that it was okay, and he wasn’t mad, but he suspected it meant nothing to the bewildered ape descendant and they continued down the corridor.

Arthur broke the silence to start asking questions again, so Ford decided to introduce him to the guide while he got his bearings (like a parent giving a child an iPad to pacify them while they worked or had a nap, not that either of them knew much about that either).

Once the explanation was finished, Prefect had calmed down and taken in his surroundings and even found an opportunity to introduce his companion to some new culture. 

Before this could happen, however, Arthur looked up with an almost now permanently etched look of confusion on his face, the device had said it was impossible to get a lift from the Vogons and yet, there they were.  
“How did we get a lift then?” He inquired.  
“That’s the point. It’s out of date now. I’m doing the field research for the new revised edition,” Ford explained, clicking the device firmly back into its case.   
Arthur looked him up and down as if seeing him though different eyes, and Ford tried not to squirm under the attention.   
“You’re rather a big deal out here then?” Arthur finally asked.   
“Not really,” He muttered, looking up awkwardly. “There’s quite a few hitchhikers so the editors have quite the staff. Although, there’s always the hardcore experts who look down on us because we’re on a pay roll, but you’ll always find a copy of the guide in their bag, so you just offer to buy them a drink and they slip off their high horse pretty quickly”   
Arthur looked even more baffled but decided to give up trying to understand.

Gleefully, Ford opened a hatch to reveal what looked like, to Earth-centric Arthur, blue black pudding and guacamole.   
“Hey!! Hadrobiscuit! The greatest, you’ll love these guys, they make the hoopiest froo food in the whole of the west galaxy. Go on, have a bite.”   
before the Earthman could ask what hoopiest, froo or even hadrobiscuit meant, Ford began speaking again and shoved the round blue object down his throat.   
Thousands of thoughts raced though his head at that moment, the absolutely disgusting taste of the ‘biscuit’, the contact between their hands, Ford’s exited face with a genuine smile that always did strange things to Dent’s insides, and, Ford Prefect shoving a round object down his throat. Fortunately, the urge to spit out the revolting taste overpowered any other emotion, and it was also an excuse to look away. He quickly pushed everything else into a box in his brain with a sticker on it that said ‘inconsequential’ (underneath there’s a correct label that says ‘denial’). Most of Arthur’s admittedly limited repertoire of relationships (between stark lack of interest in ex-girlfriends and interesting experiences in university) were in this box.   
Next, he simply blamed the slight physical proof of the ordeal hiding dutifully under the folds of his dressing gown on stress and being ridiculously touch starved- and the repression was complete. 

Arthur looked up to see an excited Ford chow down on the alien food, and watched as his friend went though the 5 stages of grief.   
“I think these guys must really hate the Vogons,” he stated flatly and threw the offending food on the floor. 

They moved on. 

Another hatch opened, revealing a store room with dusty floors stretching out in all directions, meeting walls lined with pipes and green floodlights that stretched sky high to hold up the flat lofty roof. Metal frames reminiscent of school gyms stretched across the vast ceilings. Arthur tore his eyes away from the sheer size of the place to see his friend rummaging though crates like a man (Arthur stopped himself right there on the speculation as to if that was a correct description of his companion given his newfound knowledge) on a mission. 

He decided this was a good time for more questions.   
“Ford, why were you on Earth?”  
“Guide research,” came the short reply.  
“Unfortunately I got stuck on the Earth for rather longer than I intended, I came for a week and got stuck for fifteen years.”  
“But how did you get there in the first place then?”   
“Easy, I got a lift with a teaser.’  
“A teaser?” Arthur asked, regretting his decision to ask more questions.  
“Yeah.”   
“Er, what is…”  
“A teaser? Teasers are usually rich kids with nothing to do. They cruise around looking for planets which haven’t made interstellar contact yet and buzz them.”   
“Buzz them?” Arthur had now begun to feel that Ford was enjoying making life difficult for him.   
“Yeah,” said Ford, “They buzz them. They find some isolated spot with very few people around, then land right by some poor unsuspecting soul who no one’s ever going to believe, and then strut up and down in front of him wearing silly antennae on their head and making beep beep noises,” (This was accompanied by mime) “Rather childish really.”   
“Ford,” insisted Arthur, “I don’t know if this sounds like a silly question, but what am I doing here?”  
“Well, you know that,” said Ford. “I rescued you from the Earth.”  
“Well yes, but why?”  
“Well…” Ford hesitated, “Well I guess I like your company. You just come along with me and have a good time. The Galaxy’s a fun place. You’ll need to have this fish in your ear.”  
The exasperated human suspected there was no explanation coming with this, so decided to just roll with the punches. 

A moment later, the smaller man flourished a towel rather dramatically in front of Arthur’s face, looking oddly pleased with himself.   
“Your towel, keep it and guard it with your life.”  
Arthur’s confusion must have been evident on his face, because Ford tried to explain.  
“Listen, it’s a tough universe, all sorts of people and things trying to do you-“ (The Earth man couldn’t decipher the pause in Ford’s sentence here) “-Kill you, rip you off, everything. If you want to survive out there, you’ve really got to know where your towel is.”  
The towel changed hands with a quick smile from the smaller of the two, that somehow made Arthur think back to the failed attempt at local delicacies. 

“Now, Fish!” Ford cried, ripping Arthur out of his thoughts.  
Ford was holding up a small glass jar which quite clearly had a small yellow fish wriggling around in it. Arthur blinked at him. He wished there was something simple and recognisable he could grasp hold of. He would have felt safe if, alongside the Dentrassi underwear, the piles of Sqornshellous mattresses and the man from Betelgeuse holding up a small yellow fish and offering to put it in his ear, he had been able to see just a small packet of cornflakes. Although, a little, self aware, the voice in the back of his head pointed out that said man from Betelgeuse had been a constant in his life for the last 6 years, but the main part of his brain refused to address anything to do with Ford Prefect and his feelings towards him. 

Suddenly a violent noise leapt at them from no source that he could identify. He gasped in terror at what sounded like a man trying to gargle whilst fighting off a pack of wolves.“Shush!” said Ford, wafting his hand in front of an affronted Arthur’s face. “Listen, it might be important.”  
“Imp- important?” This would have been said petulantly if it wasn’t for the overwhelming confusion.   
“It’s the Vogon captain making an announcement on the Tannoy.”  
“You mean that’s how the Vogons talk?”  
“Listen!”  
“But I can’t speak Vogon!” Arthur said desperately, increasingly thinking this was either a dream or a practical joke pulled by the lads from the sound effects department at work and Ford with his acting.   
“You don’t need to. Just put this fish in your ear.”  
This would have been the final straw if Ford had not, with a lightning movement, clapped his hand over Arthur’s mouth, and shoved the yellow thing down his ear. Gasping with horror he scrabbled at his ear for a second or so, but then slowly turned goggle-eyed with wonder. He was still listening to the Vogon gargles, part of him intuitively knew that, only now it had somehow taken on the semblance of perfectly straightforward English.

Once the slightly disturbing message had ended, Arthur went to sit up from where he was curled on the floor, but Ford dragged him back down with a tap on the upper thigh that short circuited Arthur’s brain just long enough for Ford to explain they were about to go into hyperspace.   
“It’s unpleasantly like being drunk.”  
“What’s so unpleasant about being drunk?” he asked, knowing there would be no conceivable reply, but wishing really he was more drunk right at that moment   
“You ask a glass of water.” Arthur thought about this. Arthur then stopped thinking about it. 

They walked out of the warehouse and continued along the corridor.   
“look, ford, what exactly am i doing here?” Arthur tried again to continue the abandoned conversation from earlier.   
Ford looked at his companion and seemed to consider this.   
“you would have died otherwise, so, a little appreciation would be excellent”  
“well yes, but why me? and why not, a married couple, or at least a woman for me, you know, keep the human race alive”   
Ford looked at Arthur in his peripheral vision and tried not to hit his head on the wall and scream. To his credit he simply responded: “well why would i want to save the human race?”  
“I am officially an endangered species now if you were only more smart about who you saved then we wouldn’t be materially extinct”   
Ford stopped and grabbed Arthur’s arm so they were facing.   
“Arthur, i don’t know what to tell you, i had very little time to do anything before the earth was destroyed, i decided to take you because i thought it would be fun. Now come on.” 

They didn’t get very far before Arthur exploded. 

“I didn’t ask for this! Any of this!” The earthman said gesturing wildly, “The falling apart spaceship, you being an alien, the guide, fish that talk in your ear, the EARTH BEING DESTROYED!”   
Tears of frustration pooled in Arthur’s eyes.  
“Why do I feel nothing, I just, half of me...” He trailed off and looked down to avoid the lost and vaguely pitiful look on Ford’s face.   
“I- I’m not very good at figuring out what people are implying, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to spit it out.”   
A moment passed, and Ford had just opened his mouth to speak again when he was rudely interrupted.   
“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” Arthur screamed hysterically, grabbing the smaller man’s blazer lapels and dragging him so they were nose to nose.   
“What, just a conspiracy of cartographers you mean?” Ford replied, jokingly imitating himself in the pub earlier that day to try and ease his friend, and also help himself not panic with their close proximity. Arthur was unimpressed. After there was no response ford began to say “I mean, you don’t believe in new yo-“ but he was cut off.   
“I DON’T, BELIEVE IT” Arthur reiterated through his teeth, eyes wildly flickering over Ford’s face. 

The air in the room suddenly changed as Arthur realised what he’d done. They stood there for a moment in silence. Ford watched as the taller man’s eyes flickered around trying not to focus on his eyes or lips, unfortunately these are rather large parts of ones face. However, Arthur did not straighten up or back away and the silence stretched on.   
“This is quite homoerotic” the smaller said candidly, trying to sound cool but in reality just saying the words at a squeak. Red the red on Arthur’s cheeks became even darker than they were already as he floundered for words and seemed to be struggling to make his body actually move anywhere but closer.

Neither man could do much before a stout green Vogon swung a door open. 

“WHO ARE YOU?”


	3. in which an expensive english degree fails to save their lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short one because i got all caught up writing a one shot that i might publish at some point but yeah bit of a written at 2am situation

The pair looked towards the voice and were greeted with the sight of, well, something just unsightly. In unison, Arthur jumped away from Ford, Ford flapped a towel towards the green monstrosity pathetically, and the Vogon approached. This proved to be a rather lame attempt at fitting back against the blubbering monster. They soon found themselves being dragged down the corridor. Any attempts at protest were completely ignored, and the silence after Arthur demanded to be told precisely what their offence was and to be provided with a lawyer seemed somehow particularly potent.

It was not long before they were thrown in vaguely humanoid shaped cages and locked in with a firm clunk- indicative of the crude mechanical nature of the things (much to arthur’s surprise) were also in use in space. The Vogon sat before them in a floating chair, (floating chairs but no smooth locks or polish thought arthur, pretentiously) and looked rather like a creature who was about to make good on his promise to read poetry- in the most sinister way imaginable.

The poetry reading passed rather like a lesson where you understand nothing and the teacher has the world’s most monotone voice- but you’re also in pain the whole time. Fortunately, it did eventually end.Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz next gave them a choice: go to their certain death, or review his poetry. Arthur heard an internal choir of angels at this news as he prepared to finally use his English Lit degree, the years of practicing the art of sheer bullshit about to pay off. He began.

“Actually, I quite liked it.”

Ford turned and gaped. The Vogon raised a surprised eyebrow that effectively obscured his nose, and was therefore no bad thing.

“Oh good!” He whirred, in considerable astonishment.

“Oh yes,” said Arthur, “I thought that some of the metaphysical imagery was really particularly effective.”

Ford continued to stare at him, slowly organising his thoughts around this totally new concept, including his opinion of Arthur’s ability to survive in space. His feelings seeming to never give him a rest, Ford noticed that the human taking control of the situation so easily seemed to make him feel things, and he mentally shook himself to focus on the matter at hand.

“Yes, do continue,” Invited the Vogon.

“Oh- and er- interesting rhythmic devices too,” continued Arthur, “which seemed to counterpoint the- er- erm..’ He floundered. Ford leaped to his rescue, trying to use what he had overheard when auditioning for Shakespeare (knowing for sure he wouldn’t get it), “Counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor of the- er-“ He floundered too, but bu this point Arthur had recovered.

“Humanity of the-“

“Vogonity,” Ford hissed at him.

“Ah yes, Vogonity, sorry, of the poet’s compassionate soul,” Arthur felt he was on a home stretch now, “Which contrives through the medium of the verse structure to sublimate this, transcend that, and come to terms with the fundamental dichotomies of the other, and one is left with a profound and vivid insight into- into- er…"

Ford leaped in one more

“Into whatever it was the poem was about!” (He hadn’t learnt that much.)

Out of the corner of his mouth he muttered: “Well done, Arthur, that was very good.”

He was starting to think they may make quite a good little team.

The Vogon’s grating voice interrupted his thoughts.

“So what you’re saying is that I write poetry because underneath my mean callous heartless exterior I really just want to be loved,” It said. He paused. “Is that right?”

Ford laughed a nervous laugh. “Well, I mean, yes,” he said, “don’t we all, deep down, you know...”

He glanced feebly over at Arthur and was astounded when they made eye contact. He made a note to himself to overthink that and how he may have freaked out Arthur at a more convenient time.

The Vogon stood up. “No, well you’re completely wrong,” he said. “I just write poetry to throw my mean callous heartless exterior into sharp relief. I’m going to throw you off the ship anyway. Guards! Take the prisoners to number three airlock and throw them out!”

“What?” shouted Ford. A huge Vogon guard stepped forward and yanked them out of their straps with his huge, blubbery arms.

“You can’t throw us into space,” yelled Ford, “We’re trying to write a book.”

At a similar time as Ford said the words “We’re trying...”, Arthur felt a strange sensation in his stomach that must be down to the mental torture or the fish in his ear or, one of the other ordeals he’d been dealt recently. Reader, this was not the case.

“This is great,” spluttered Arthur, “This is really terrific. Let go of me, you brute!”

The Vogon guard dragged them on.

“Don’t you worry,” said Ford, giving Arthur one of his best ‘don’t panic’ smiles. “I’ll think of something.” He didn’t sound hopeful, and had never been good at smiles that weren’t slightly discerning.

Ford did, in fact think of something! Unfortunately, this was to try and concise the vogon to change career path, possibly to a classical musician, and as we have just seen, vogons are not naturally predisposed to the arts. He executed this plan and as one might expect, it failed. All they achieved was slight humiliation.

All too soon they were tossed into the airlock, and the door was shut firmly behind them. Arthur lay panting for breath. Ford scrambled round and flung his shoulder uselessly against the closing hatchway. They were in a brightly polished cylindrical chamber about six feet in diameter and ten feet long. Ford looked round it, also panting, as many people who have been thrown around a bit and read Vogon poetry do. Arthur was still lying in the curve of the floor where he had fallen. He didn’t look up, he just lay panting.

“We’re trapped now, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” said Ford, “We’re trapped.”

A moment passed.

“Any regrets?” Arthur asked weakly.

“Well I’d rather not have spent the last 15 years on Earth,” Ford declared flatly.

“Yes,” the Earth man hummed, “Quite.” An uncomfortable silence grew - and humans don’t like silence-so Arthur did what most ape descendants do in a situation like this (this being an awkward silence, not being thrown into space as it was not a very common experience for humans): he stated the obvious.

“So this is it. We are going to die.”

“Yes,” said Ford, “Except . . . No! Wait a minute!” He suddenly lunged across the chamber at something behind Arthur’s line of vision. “What’s this switch?” he exclaimed.

“What? Where?” cried Arthur, twisting round.

“No, I was only fooling,” said Ford, “We are going to die after all.” The short man smiled manically and Arthur snapped. He grabbed Ford’s lapels once more and rammed him into a corner. Thepair stared at each other with varying levels of panic- Arthur with eyes wide and Ford simply not blinking.

“You’ve really got to stop doing that or I’m going to have to-“

Ford never managed finish this threat as he was cut off. Arthur’s brain had finished arguing about quite how much he had to loose, and he pushed his lips roughly against Ford’s. Suddenly everything around them disappeared and neither had the brain capacity to wonder if that was metaphorical or not.

Arthur shoved a hand though Ford’s curls to feel the soft threads between his fingers. A motor whirred. Neither man noticed. Ford’s formerly flailing hands settled loosely around the taller man’s neck. A slight hiss built into a deafening roar of rushing air, as the alien deepened the kiss desperately trying not to think about what would happen next. The outer hatchway opened on to an empty blackness studded with tiny impossibly bright points of light. Ford and Arthur popped out into space like corks from a toy gun, still clung together.


	4. in which ford is a penuin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short one, felt like a natural end

Story convention would tell you that this is not the end of the story. It would be an extremely unsatisfying ending, and many of you know that this is barely even the beginning of our heroes’ adventure. However neither, Ford, Arthur, Trillian, Zaphod, even Slartibartfast or the mice are blessed with this foresight, and therefore have no idea of what is to come. It is a well-known fact that Ford and Arthur will be subsequently scooped up by a ship called ‘The Heart of Gold,’ inhabited by Trillian and Zaphod, but let us delve into what is happening aboard the aforementioned ship as they are being rescued. 

“Erm... Zaphod...” Trillian called out softly.   
“Hmm?” came the disinterested reply.   
“We have guests.”   
Zaphod’s heads snappled up in annoyance  
“Who are they, Trillian?”   
She spun her seat round to face him and shrugged.   
“Just a couple of guys we seem to have picked up in open space,” she said. “Section ZZ 9 Plural Z Alpha.”  
“Yeah, well. That’s a very sweet thought, Trillian,” complained Zaphod, “but do you really think it’s wise under the circumstances? I mean, here we are on the run and everything, we must have the police of half the Galaxy after us by now, and we stop to pick up hitchhikers. Okay, so ten out of ten for style, but minus several million for good thinking, yeah?”   
He tapped irritably at a control panel. Trillian quietly moved his hand before he tapped anything important. Needless to say, Zaphod was not elected president of the galaxy for impulse control.   
“There’s something you should know, before you embarrass yourself or, just generally be Zaphod Beeblebrox.”  
“Alright then, what?”  
“The two people we picked up...” she trailed off and brought up the visiscreen of just before they’d been rescued.  
“Oh my god are they kissing?”  
“I think so.”  
“In the vacuum of space?”  
“Quite.”  
Zaphod seemed to consider this.  
“Can I give them points, do I have the authority?”  
“They’re on this ship now so they are slightly at our mercy.”  
“Oh I do like the sound of that, but yes ten thousand points for style to these two.”   
At this point, it would have been highly improbable if the improbability drive itself thought, ‘Wait until you find out who it is,’ however, two ridiculous men had just been rescued from the emptiness of space by the girl Arthur had convinced himself he liked, and Ford’s semi-cousin respectively, so all bets were off really. 

On the landing bay, Arthur had just realised they weren’t dead.   
He had come to this conclusion when the blackness of space became a distorted sky and him and the man currently attached to his lips, were sat on a pier. He remedied this by scrambling away from said man.   
“We’re not dead,” Arthur stated, eyes looking everywhere but at Ford.   
“Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me baby.”  
“Don’t call me baby,” he snapped back quickly.  
“You were kissing me moments ago and I can’t call you baby? I once called a policeman baby!”  
“And how did that work out for you?”  
“Fine actually!”  
“Only due to my intervention.”  
“I see what this is about” Ford shouted round to where Arthur had retreated further, huffing and adding quietly: “I swear that planet is a living hell!”  
There was no response to Ford decided to leave it. 

“I see you’re not about to talk about what just happened, so maybe you should address the increasing lack of limbs you currently have to run away from me with.”   
“You what?” Arthur said, head snapping up incredulously.  
“Yes, your legs seem to be currently floating into the sun.”  
“Well i’ll say that’s rather unfortunate, how and why have you done that?”  
“You think this was me?”  
“Well it’s certainly stopped me from running off, and you my dear, are looking concerning my like a penguin, stop it.”  
“This isn’t my doing!”  
It was at this moment that a soft woman’s voice drifted though south end, or rather south end on acid. It sounded like quite a sensible voice, but it simply said, “Two to the power of one hundred thousand to one against and falling,” and that was all. Ford skidded down a beam of light and spun round trying to find a source for the voice, but could see nothing he could seriously believe in.   
“What was that voice?” shouted Arthur.   
“I don’t know,” yelled Ford. “I don’t know. It sounded like a measurement of probability.”  
“Probability? What do you mean?”   
“Probability. You know, like two to one, three to one, five to four against. It said two to the power of one hundred thousand to one against,” he explained, gesturing with fingers at first and giving up when he realised how large and impossible to comprehend this number was. Just in case his dense companion wasn’t aware, he added, waddling around in a furious circle, “that’s pretty improbable you know.”  
“Hey, who are you?” he quacked, and continued giving the voice very little chance to respond to the first question. “Where are you? What’s going on and is there any way of stopping it?”   
“Please relax,” said the voice pleasantly, like a stewardess in an airliner with only one wing and two engines (one of which is on fire), “You are perfectly safe.”   
“But that’s not the point!” raged Ford. “The point is that I am now a perfectly safe penguin, and my colleague here is rapidly running out of limbs!”   
The word ‘colleague’ was said with as much meaning as a penguin could muster, which is to say none, but Arthur understood nonetheless.   
“It’s all right, I’ve got them back now,” said Arthur, trying to stay positive in order to get back on Ford’s good side: a place he rather enjoyed being.   
“Two to the power of fifty thousand to one against and falling.”  
“Admittedly,” said Arthur, “They’re longer than I usually like them, but...” He found nothing to add to this statement, and Ford clearly wasn’t listening so there was very little point.   
“Isn’t there anything,” squawked Ford in fury which Arthur found really rather cute- because of course, he was a penguin, “you feel you ought to be telling us?”   
The voice cleared its throat. “Welcome,” the voice said, “to the Starship Heart of Gold.”  
“HOT DAMN,” Ford penguin squeaked. 

Ford and Arthur were in a small luminous pink cubicle. Ford was wildly excited.  
“Arthur!” he said. “This is fantastic! We’ve been picked up by a ship powered by the Infinite Improbability Drive! This is incredible! I heard rumours about it before! They were all officially denied, but they must have done it! They’ve built the Improbability Drive! Arthur, this is... Arthur? What’s happening?” His face dropped when he noticed his friend was still trying to get away from him. Arthur had jammed himself against the door to the cubicle in an attempt to hold it closed, but it appeared to be fighting back. He then noticed the tiny furry little hands were squeezing themselves through the cracks, their fingers were ink-stained; tiny voices chattering insanely. Arthur looked up.   
“Ford,” he said weakly, “there’s an infinite number of monkeys outside who want to talk to us about this script for Hamlet they’ve worked out.”


	5. in which arthur and ford both have small break downs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my brain is not working rn so i apologise for how much of a mess this is but hey here we go

Zaphod Beeblebrox paced nervously up and down the cabin, brushing his hands over pieces of gleaming equipment and giggling with excitement. Trillian sat hunched over a clump of instruments reading off figures. Her voice was carried round the Tannoy system of the whole ship.  
“Five to one against and falling... Four to one against and falling . . . Three to one . . . Two . . . One . . . Probability factor of one to one . . . We have normality, I repeat we have normality.” She turned her microphone off – then turned it back on with a slight smile and continued: “Anything you still can’t cope with is therefore your own problem. Please relax. You will be sent for soon.”  
“Trillian, what do you think we should say when they come up? Should we let them know we saw them uh little uh smoochin- but what if, like, kissing is forbidden in their culture and they thought they were going to die but now they have to live their life in shame or something and they punch my good head if I bring it up?” Zaphod babbled.   
“Please act like a normal huma- person,” she sighed. “I’ll get the robot to go and get them, you try and rub your two brain cells together. Hey Marvin! Go down to number two entry bay and bring the two aliens up here under surveillance.”  
With a microsecond pause, and a finely calculated micro-modulation of pitch and timbre – nothing you could actually take offence at – Marvin managed to convey his utter contempt and horror of all things human.   
“Just that?” he said.  
“Yes,” said Trillian firmly.   
“I won’t enjoy it,” said Marvin.   
Zaphod leapt out of his seat.   
“She’s not asking you to enjoy it!” He shouted. “Just do it, will you?!”  
“All right,” said Marvin like the tolling of a great cracked bell, ‘I’ll do it.”  
“Good!” snapped Zaphod, impatiently. 

“I think this ship’s brand new,” said Ford in the now normal ship’s embarkment area.   
“How can you tell?” asked Arthur, feeling this was the correct response. “Have you got some exotic device for measuring the age of metal?”   
“No, I just found this sales brochure lying on the floor. It’s a lot of ‘the Universe can be yours’ stuff. Ah! Look, I was right.” Ford jabbed at one of the pages and shoved it at Arthur’s face. He flinched slightly but attempted to understand the space jargon across its pages. “It says: ‘Sensational new breakthrough in Improbability Physics. As soon as the ship’s drive reaches Infinite Improbability it passes through every point in the Universe. Be the envy of other major governments.’ Wow, this is big league stuff.” Ford hunted excitedly through the technical specs of the ship, occasionally gasping with astonishment at what he read – clearly galactic astrotechnology had moved ahead during the years of his exile.

Arthur watched on, brain still full of self resentment for what he’d done just minutes before, and yet he couldn’t help but want to kiss Ford’s exited face all over again, without the threat of imminent danger. He told himself to shut up, that had only happened because of said imminent danger of death and he certainly had not enjoyed it. Another part of his brain simply flashed memories of how nice it actually had been and did a virtual mic drop.   
“Um, Ford...”  
Ford hummed, not looking up from the brochure. Arthur realised he probably didn’t even want to repeat the experience. The initial part of his brain picked the mic up again and looked smug, pointing out that Ford was probably using some weird pheromones to make him embarrass himself. 

Just as he had come to this conclusion, a cartoon looking robot that somehow seemed to have sad eyes, walked through the door of the small room. 

“Look at this door,” the robot said as he entered. Sarcasm mode activated, but as with the rest of the miserable robot, it wasn’t perfected and sounded more sad. “All the doors in this spaceship have a cheerful and sunny disposition. It is their pleasure to open for you, and their satisfaction to close again with the knowledge of a job well done.”  
As the door closed behind them it became apparent that it did indeed have a satisfied sigh-like quality to it. “Hummmmmmmyummmmmmm ah!” it said. Marvin regarded it with pure loathing to put angsty teenagers to shame, whilst his logic circuits went though the logic of directing physical violence against it. A spasm of despair went though the diodes in his left side as he turned.

“Come on,” he droned, “I’ve been ordered to take you down to the bridge. Here I am, brain the size of a planet and they ask me to take you down to the bridge. Call that job satisfaction?” he did not wait for an answer. “Because I don’t.” He turned and walked back to the hated door.   
“Er, excuse me,” said Ford following after him, “which government owns this ship?”   
Marvin ignored him.   
“You watch this door,” he muttered, “It’s about to open again. I can tell by the intolerable air of smugness it suddenly generates.”   
With an ingratiating little whine the door slid open again and Marvin stuttered through.   
“Come on,” he said. The pair followed quickly and the door slid back into place with its pleased little clicks and whirrs. “Thank you the marketing division of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation,” said Marvin, trudging mechanically up the gleaming curved corridor that stretched out before them. “‘Let’s build robots with Genuine People Personalities,’ they said. So they tried it out with me. I’m a personality prototype. You can tell, can’t you?” Ford and Arthur muttered embarrassed little disclaimers.  
“Which government metal man,” started Ford again.   
“No government owns it,” snapped the robot, “it’s been stolen.”  
“Stolen?”   
“Stolen?” mimicked Marvin.   
“Who by?” asked Ford, decisively taking no notice of any product of the cybernetics corporation.   
“Zaphod Beeblebrox.” Marvin replied, smugly, his mood elevated (by exactly 10 to the power negative three thousand of a Sirius Cybernetics Mood Unit TM)

Something extraordinary happened to Ford’s face, as he went though the equal but opposite staged of emotions as when he ate the food on the vogon ship. His left leg, which was in mid-stride, seemed to have difficulty in finding the floor again.  
“Zaphod Beeblebrox.” he muttered weakly, considering if this was a positive thing or not. On the one hand, they deffinitely weren’t going to be thrown out, or put to work, or arrested or any of the other dangers of hitchhiking. Zaphod was also generally a laugh and ford enjoyed his company. On the other hand, Zaphod was the least subtle person in the galaxy. “Oh Zarquon I am so fucked!”   
Ford could not cope with that man right now, he would probably say something to Arthur that would freak him out forever, and he’d be all alone again with nobody but his semi- cousin (who is presumably the most wanted man in the galaxy), and a depressed robot for company. 

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?” said Marvin, dragging himself on regardless of Ford’s ashen face. “Pardon me for breathing, which I never do anyway so I don’t know why I bother to say it, oh God I’m so depressed. Here’s another of those e-serotonin filled doors. Life! Don’t talk to me about life.”   
“No one even mentioned it,” muttered Arthur irritably, then diverting attention back to his friend. “Ford, are you all right?”   
Ford stared at him, wondering why humans continued to ask that question knowing the only socially acceptable answer is ‘yeah’.   
“Did that robot say Zaphod Beeblebrox?” he asked, Arthur assumed rhetorically, but Ford did not do rhetorical questions, he was genuinely convinced he may have had an error message in front of his eyes for a moment. 

By this point, Zaphod had also discerned the other factors in the borderline impossibility of the events of the last hours, and was making it his business to find the ‘coolest chair to be discovered in,’ unbeknownst to the fact that Ford was also clued up as to his identity (Zaphod’s that was, Ford had absolutely no clue as to his own identity). 

This brings us to the point that the four- no five, lets not forget Marvin- convened for the first time. 

“Yeah, just show them in would you, Marvin?” Zaphod said, as cool as he could muster, this is to say, really rather cool. Arthur looked at Ford, as he spent 90% of his time doing, and was astonished to see him laughing.   
“What’s…?”  
“Shhh,” whispered Ford, wondering if he could get though this without Arthur and Zaphod ever really interacting.   
“Come on in.”   
He stepped through into the bridge. Arthur followed him in nervously and was astonished to see a man lolling back in a chair with his feet on a control console, picking the teeth in his right-hand head with his left hand. The right-hand head seemed to be thoroughly preoccupied with this task, but the left-hand one was grinning a broad, relaxed, nonchalant grin. The number of things that Arthur couldn’t believe he was seeing was fairly large. His jaw flopped about at a loose end for a while. The peculiar man waved a lazy wave at Ford and, with an appalling affectation of nonchalance said, “Ford, hi! how are you? Glad you could drop in.”

Ford was not going to be out-cooled. Arthur knew this and was actually rather excited to see it unfold.   
“Zaphod,” he drawled, “Great to see you, you’re looking well, the extra arm suits you. Nice ship you’ve stolen.”   
Arthur goggled at him.  
“You mean you know this guy?” He demanded, waving a wild finger at Zaphod.   
“Know him?” exclaimed Ford. “He’s-“ he paused, and decided to do the introductions the other way round, also stall like a pro “Oh, Zaphod, this is a… friend of mine, Arthur Dent,” he said. “I saved him when his planet blew up.”

At this point, Arthur chastised his heart sinking at the use of the word ‘friend’. ‘What else am I to him?’ He asked his heart, there was no reply.

“Oh sure,” said Zaphod, also noting the use of ‘friend,’ “Hi, Arthur, glad you could make it.”   
“This could be interesting,” one of Zaphod’s heads whispered to the other.   
Ford carried on, blissfully unaware of what his relative knew, not noticing Zaphod swatting his left head. “And Arthur, this is my semi-cousin Zaphod Bee-”  
“We’ve met,” said Arthur sharply.  
“Er- what?” he said.   
“I said we’ve met.” Arthur repeated, looking reproachfully at Zaphod.   
Zaphod gave an awkward start of surprise in return and jabbed a gum sharply. “Hey- er, have we? Hey... again? I guess?”   
Ford rounded on Arthur with an angry flash in his eyes.   
“I’ve had quite enough of your delusional shit today Dent. What do you mean you’ve met?” he demanded. “This is Zaphod Beeblebrox from Betelgeuse Five you know, not bloody Martin Smith from Croydon.”  
“I don’t care,” said Arthur coldly. “We’ve met, haven’t we Zaphod Beeblebrox – or should I say… Phil?”   
“What!” shouted Ford, so definitively out of his depth he felt like he was back on earth in first month, not on a spaceship with his cousin.   
“You’ll have to remind me,” said Zaphod. “I’ve a terrible memory for species.” 

“At this party,” persisted Arthur, “was a girl...”   
Ford felt his stomach drop. Zaphod had probably picked up this girl. It would- if nothing else- give Arthur someone to claim he was into, thus continuing his lifelong habit of convincing himself he was attracted to women, despite only ever talking about: taken, or otherwise unattainable women, one at a time, and as if reciting one of the scripts Ford had shoved in his satchel.  
“Oh well, look it doesn’t matter now.” Arthur was still saying. “The whole place has gone up in smoke anyway...”

“I wish you’d stop talking about bloody w- Earth,” said Ford, course correcting at the last second. “Who was the lady?” he sighed.   
“Oh, just somebody. Well all right, I wasn’t doing very well with her.”  
Ford bit back a snippy comment, knowing that ‘I wonder why’ was almost audiable.  
“I’d been trying all evening. Hell, she was something though. Beautiful, charming, devastatingly intelligent, at least I’d got her to myself for a bit-”  
Ford bit back the comment even harder, distracting himself by making a mental note to give him a lecture on misogyny.   
“-and I was plying her with a bit of talk when this friend of yours barges up and says, ‘Hey doll, is this guy boring you? Why don’t you talk to me instead? I’m from a different planet.’ I never saw her again.”  
“Zaphod?” exclaimed Ford, he had to admit, Arthur did do a very good Zaphod impression.   
“Yes,” said Arthur, glaring at him and trying not to feel foolish. (This was futile since he also looked foolish, due to him being foolish.) “He only had the two arms and the one head and he called himself Phil, but...”  
“But you must admit he did turn out to be from another planet,” said Trillian wandering into sight at the other end of the bridge. She gave Arthur a pleasant smile and then turned her attention to the ship’s controls again. There was silence for a few seconds, and then, out of the scrambled mess of Arthur’s brain, crawled some words.

“Tricia McMillan?” he googled, “What are you doing here?”   
“Same as you,” she said, all too knowingly, “I hitched a lift. After all, with a degree in maths and another in astrophysics what else was there to do? It was either that or the dole queue again on Monday.”

Ford glanced at Arthur to gauge his reaction, thankfully he didn’t seem to have noticed the implication in that sentence, possibly because he didn’t know Zaphod very well. It did make Ford himself flinch though, it wasn’t like that with him and Arthur, he really liked him and although he didn’t really know what to do with this, he had refrained from throwing himself at him. Zarquon, he thought to himself, he was really getting old. If his dad were around it would probably be at this point in his life he’d be telling him to settle down and find a few spouses. “You’re supposed to want kids when you’re in your 200s” he’d say, but alas he was dead, and Ford was left liking a man who couldn’t deal with living in London without coming close to a full mental breakdown, and who had primitive ideas about sexuality and monogamy. Whats worse, he had decided to bring said man along.

Interrupting the four-way staring contest, Eddie finished calculating how improbable this sequence of coincidences was: infinity raised to the power of negative one. In other words, impossible.

Zaphod looked about him, at Ford, Arthur, and then at Trillian. “Trillian,” he said, “is this sort of thing going to happen every time we use the Improbability Drive?”  
“Very probably, I’m afraid,” she replied.


End file.
